Descent into darkness.

Grasping the voice pipe mounted on her desk in her spidery hand, her highly manicured nails clinking on the cold steel cone, the lady barks, “Cave complex.” And proceeds to look over the cone shaped apparatus at the men, the cold steel eyes intent on their disheveled look.

Soon enough a voice burbles back through the tube, “Connected.” It rings metallically through the myriad of tubes.

Speaking clearly she pushes her shoulders back and straightens her posture, “I have three of the four Germans in my office, Bulmer has presumably been killed.” She looks questioningly at Tom.

Nodding quickly he confirms her suspicions.

“Repeat Bulmer is dead, his comrades have returned however.”

A rumble of distorted speech ushers up the pipe as if raining down a long wet corridor, “You may send them down as I wish to speak to them.” Followed by a heavy clunk that dictates the conversation is over.

Placing the tube back onto its bronze hook she looks up at the men, “The commander will see you in the cave complex, take this and you shall meet no opposition.” Gripping a fountain pen tensely she dabs some ink on the nib and proceeds to scrawl marks onto a film of paper.

After she’s finished she hands the scrap to Tom, he glances at it, his thought being that the officer he is impersonating would surly have seen such a command before and would not need to inspect it.

Giving the stub a shake to dry the ink he slides it into his breast coat pocket and looks at the lady, “Well?” he says, summoning up his best German parlance.

Looking slightly put out the lady reaches for the lip of her fine wooden table and the delicate sound of a button being pressed clicks into existence. The right wall easily glides open, each book on the five or six shelves rock back and forth as it slides across the space. It shudders to a stop and a tunnel is exposed, a trail of electric lights dwindles into the distance.

Clicking their heals together in a somewhat synchronized way the men turn on their toes and proceed into the corridor, the door noiselessly closes behind them.

“Where do you suppose it leads old boy?” Albert utters to his friend.

Tom glances over his shoulder at the man, “I’ve no idea, perhaps the Cave complex.”

“I don’t much like the sound of that lad.” Henry adds.

“Never the less Gestalt awaits our rescue as does the sleeping world above, now lets get a move on.” On saying that Tom hurries the pace and starts down the corridor, his feet clomping out a steady beat.

The two other men follow quickly behind him, every now and then glancing over their shoulders in fear of pursuit. Ahead of them the tunnel leads off into almost darkness, the only lights spaced ten feet apart and imitating no more light than a dying candle, the static hum of electricity fills the air; the exposed wires appear to glow and sizzle against the walls as tiny tendrils of steam and smoke dance up the smooth wall surface.

Several doors lead off from the main passage; the men choose not to take them, each one seeming more like an anteroom or office. Henry tries the first two to find they are locked and quickly trots on to catch his fellows who’ve not stopped or slowed.

“The lady said that we’d meet no opposition getting to the cave didn’t she?” Albert asks.

“That’s right, I suppose that implies guards will help lead our way by the mere act of standing sentry.”

“That’s what I’m clinging to Henry.” Tom says as the tunnel starts to descend and drift to the left, the tiled floor betraying the subtle curve while the walls do the same for the drop.

After one hundred more feet or so and a brighter light fills the tunnel end, a solid steel door blocks the way. Three quarters of the way up the door a single brass knocker hangs limp and above that a rectangular indentation marks a viewing window.

Grasping the knocker Tom thumps out three solid tones.

They wait.

Seconds turn into a minute and as the wait rounds what will be the second minute Henry’s moves to grasp the knob again, the window shudders open.

“You are the three Germans?” A heavily accented voice asks.

“Ja!” Tom barks, hoping to sound authoritative.

“Letter!” The man demands.

Tom grasps it in frustration, leaning heavily on his royal Shakespeare days, thrusting it towards the tiny window he spits, “I think you will find everything is in Order!”

Handing the strip of paper back through the window the fellow steps back, his face recedes into the darkened space and the widow clatters shut with a loud bang. Soon the sound of grinding gears and heavy metal parts fill the air, the door swings open to reveal a small room dominated by a large iron cage. The rectangular box stands suspended below mechanical apprentice on thick intertwined wires of steel while a series of levers and knobs are positioned to its side, a control panel perhaps.

Ushering the men in he directs them to the rectangular cage, “Now you must go down.” He smiles.

The men step forwards and on the fellows direction they step into the metal cage, each wall a mesh of overlapping bands of steel, the floor a grid of the same stuff.

Steadying himself Henry finds he can see through the floor into a deep well, every hundred feet or so the walls are eliminated by a strand of white phosphorescence, each globe sputtering and sizzling as if struggling for power.

With a jarring motion the large man slams the mesh door closed and latches it with a slide bolt, “Watch that first step gentlemen.” He spit at the three, large yellowed teeth glowing in the dim light of the room.

And with that he jerks the longest lever all the way to the floor, and with a loud crunch and the cage shudders to life. It free falls for the first ten feet before being caught by the wires, only then does it shudder to a slow rolling descent.

“Well we’re in deep now whether we like it or not.” Henry whispers into Toms ear.

The lift falls into the darkness.

⚅⚀thoughts